


Figured You Out

by mightierthanthecanon



Category: Almost Human
Genre: I just like tension okay?, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dorian may or may not be a sex bot, john kennex's holster, oooh police uniforms, police drama, slight D/s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightierthanthecanon/pseuds/mightierthanthecanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. It was great when Dorian was brilliant and brave and talented, but John had to admit he loved Dorian's moments of wide-eyed innocence. What John wouldn't admit was what they made him want to do. He pushed down the image of his DRN blinking up at him innocently from his knees..."</p><p>It's been months, and John still can't get the idea that sexbots are partly based on (Dorian's) DRN technology out of his head. Neither can Dorian. But when Dorian disappears, John has to come to terms with the fact that Dorian is more than his programming, and finding him means more to John than he ever thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exact Mode

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, that's a Nickelback song.

It started with the olive oil.

After Dorian showed John how to make his knee stop hurting so much, John (predictably) stopped being as careful with the appendage as he ought to have been. It's not like he had much of a chance to take a look at it. Seemed like Maldonado had been just itching to get him back on the force and, now that he was, she was making up for lost time. So, it was totally understandable that John hadn't had a chance to see a doctor for a follow-up appointment, and if the sight of his glowing prosthetic leg made him flinch every time he took his clothes off, well, that was nobody's business but his own.

Not that it matters, John would think whenever he felt something not-quite-right with his leg, I've got my DRN. (But when had John started to think of Dorian as  _his_? As specifically  _belonging to him_  and not just some police-issued accessory, like a badge or a nightstick?) What's the worst that could happen?

A few months after the olive oil incident, in the middle of a very public, very visible arrest, John found out.

"Just get in," he grumbled, pushing Victor Cranitz into the police car and slamming the door. "You can think of an alibi later."

"The criminal was found red handed trying to pass humans off as sex bots at an industry convention, John." Dorian looked at John with a look of wary confusion, unsure how much of John's words to believe.

John couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. It was great when Dorian was brilliant and brave and talented, but John had to admit he loved Dorian's moments of wide-eyed innocence. What John wouldn't admit was what they made him want to do. He pushed down the image of his DRN blinking up at him innocently from his knees and walked over to the police building, where the rest of the his team was headed inside.

"Sarcasm, Dorian." John smacked his partner good-naturedly on the shoulder. "We really need to work on your sarcasm...detector...thing."

Dorian looked up at the touch, startling John and causing him to miss a step. It would have been funny, John falling over the curb because he was so confounded by Dorian's bug blue eyes, if his synthetic leg hadn't given out at that exact minute. John stumbled for a few seconds, giving thanks that no one was looking at him as the prosthetic limb flickered in and out of existence. No one but Dorian.  _Of course._ Before he could come up with a decent excuse however, he saw Dorian's damned blue whatever-it-was lighting up the side of his face like a neon sign.  _Great_ , he thought with a twinge of annoyance.  _What now?_

"Captain." Dorian called out. The group slowed, turning to look at the two of them. John immediately stood up straight, ignoring the pain in his knee.

"I've received data on two more bots matching the description."

Maldonado jerked her head in the direction of John's police car. "Get on it."

John groaned, resisting the urge to facepalm.  _More sex bots. Fantastic._

"You really have a thing about sex bots, don't you?" asked Dorian speculatively.

"What?" John would have whirled around if he thought his leg could take it. "A thing? I don't have a thing, least of all about sex bots."

Dorian just looked at John, with the raised eyebrow that John had gotten used to rolling his eyes at. Not this time. If Dorian brought up John's elevated heart rate with the sex bots from a few months ago...within earshot of Stahl, no less?

"Of course, Detective," Dorian murmured, grinning.

Human he was not, but Dorian had mastered a few looks, and "you owe me" was one of them. It was even worse, in John's mind, because Dorian never collected. He'd do nice things for John--the olive oil, covering for him when he had panic attacks, not mentioning to Maldonado the dozen or so times he'd made a fool of himself on duty--and always with that smirk on his face. John had long since given up waiting for the IOU to show up on his desk. It was more likely that Dorian just enjoyed knowing that John needed him every once in a while...and making sure John knew it too was even better.

“All right,” John winced, readjusting his knee in the car. “Where are we headed?” John stared as Dorian rattled off a series of numbers. That couldn’t be right.

“But that’s my—” John sputtered, almost veering into oncoming traffic.

Dorian righted the car fluidly, placing his hands onto John’s and turning the wheel back into place. “Of course it’s your apartment, John. You need to resynchronize your synthetic leg.”

John looked at him, and then shook his head in disbelief. “There are no bots, are there?”

“I can see how badly your leg is malfunctioning, even if you choose not to,” answered Dorian. “It isn’t hard to do, but it does need to be adjusted every 30 days, and I happen to know that you haven’t seen a doctor,” he cut his eyes at John, “a real one, in a while.”

_Conversational statistics._ John scoffed.  _My favorite._ “And by ‘a while,’ you mean—”

“—67 days.” Dorian smiled. “If you want me to be exact, just say so, man.”

“Exact mode,” said John, grinning.

“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Dorian. “No promises.”


	2. Alarm Clocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys like it! I'm still getting used to all the awesome AO3 reviews...and they're kind of like crack haha. I'm addicted!

Splitting his focus between the road and Dorian’s not-half-bad attempts to tell knock-knock jokes helped John forget about his leg briefly, but as soon they arrived at his apartment, the pain came right back to front and center. His leg alternated between total and complete numbness and the feeling of thousands of little electric shocks running up his skin, like trying to walk on a leg that’s fallen asleep, but twice as painful. As difficult as walking by himself was, however, he knew the alternative was worse. John had no desire to let a synthetic partner help him out of a car like an old woman because his damned synthetic leg had failed to operate. He’d had about as much technology as he could handle at the moment.

“I’m fine," he said gruffly. "Go on up without me.” Perhaps a command would work. John waited for a few seconds, and then glanced out of his open door hopefully. Dorian hadn’t even budged. A raised eyebrow was the only proof the DRN had heard a word he’d said. John sighed, completely unsurprised, and yet somehow pleased to see Dorian right where John had expected him to be.

“Fine. I’ve got it,” John grumbled. He didn't, obviously, and they both knew it. John knew he could use the help, and even the part of him trying very hard to ignore his inoperable leg might have even admitted to wanting it. Dorian, however, decided that this was the best time to start listening to his partner.  _Of course._

“Of course, John,” he said pleasantly, crossing his arms and standing just out of reach, “After you.” John shot him a look that tried for venomous but actually said something like _oh come ON,_ and pulled his malfunctioning leg out of the car. Then he tried to stand. And tried again. No matter what he did, the leg wouldn’t bend. It wouldn’t move of its own volition, like a real human leg, yet it resisted all of John’s attempts to manipulate it like a normal prosthetic. John had no idea what to do with it. Then, it got even worse.

“Synchronization incomplete! Synchronization incomplete!” John slapped at his beeping leg. The damned thing was louder than than an alarm clock.

“Really?”

Dorian shrugged. “It should have gone off at the station, but I turned it off to preserve your image.”

John ignored the smirk lighting up Dorian's face. Of course he had. And now it was tormenting him. “So why do I hear it now?” he asked, wincing as the alarm started again.

“I turned it back on,” Dorian said lightly. “You’re statistically more likely to let me help you out of annoyance than out of physical pain.”

John looked at his DRN incredulously. First, knock-knock jokes, then, devious social interactions? John would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed.

“Well, okay,” he said, shaking his head.

Dorian grinned widely, then schooled his features into a look of sincerity. “I have only your very best interests at heart, John.”

“Yeah, whatever,” John grumbled, turning off the alarm for the second time. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this.”

“I won’t,” said Dorian. He braced John with his shoulder. “Let’s go, man.

They walked (well, Dorian walked and John limped) towards the elevator, infinitely faster and less painfully than John could have managed by himself. In fact, with Dorian half-carrying him, John felt so much better that he went to lean against the glass wall, as was his habit, but his leg gave out almost as soon as he tried. Dorian was holding him up immediately, supporting his weight at an angle so that John could lean the way he wanted.

He cursed quietly, banging his head against the glass wall as the elevator zoomed up to his floor. What was the point of losing his leg if it was going to continue to hurt him? When the doors opened, John was long past pretending to walk by himself. He let Dorian help him to his apartment, then dug through his pockets for the keys, wincing when the pain hit. "What is that?" he asked Dorian, more to take his mind off of it than to actually hear the answer. John didn't really care. He just wanted it to stop.

“It’s a temporary sensation due to the leg’s inability to synchronize with your nerve endings,” said Dorian, opening the door to John’s apartment with one hand while supporting John with the other. He paused, turning his attention to his partner. “But I can get you some Batman Band-Aids if that would make you feel better.”

John ignored him, easing himself gingerly onto the sofa. He let out a sigh of relief. The leg still gave him a twinge every once in a while, but it didn't hurt nearly as badly, now that he wasn't putting pressure on it.

Dorian smiled broadly. “Iron Man?” he asked, glancing at John’s leg. “Maybe a lollipop?” He beamed down at John, laughing aloud.

A+ sarcasm. John grinned. “Just fix the damn thing,” he said.   

“Certainly,” Dorian said, and sank gracefully to his knees.


	3. Cheating the System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This is getting a little bit out of hand...

John instantly averted his eyes, though he could imagine what kind of picture the two of them made—John spread out, loose limbed and cocky on the couch, with Dorian kneeling comfortably between his legs, looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream.

John Kennex liked to think of himself as a simple man. He liked his noodles, he liked his job, and he liked his subs—not that he would ever refer to any of his former partners as that. No, that term had been brought to his attention by a distinctly unpleasant security bot (but weren’t they all?), in a report John had long since forgotten. In the early days of his recovery, still reeling over the double losses of his partner and the love of his life, John had first tried to lose himself in alcohol, and then turned to empty sex with anyone he could find. Nothing had worked. Desperate and miserable, John had gotten carried away with one woman in particular, Bethany, and had ended up having to fight off a panic attack, treating her more roughly than he’d intended in the process. Though Bethany reassured him over and over that he hadn’t hurt her, and had done nothing wrong, John had felt so guilty that he could barely stand himself. After overhearing Bethany's security bot’s incident report (“standard procedure,” he remembered her mumbling apologetically), John had gone straight to the Recollectionist, protocol be damned. He hadn’t had sex since, nor had he wanted to.

But there was Dorian, looking up at him in a way that made his breath catch in his throat like it hadn’t in months. John rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles tense for some reason, like his body was preparing for something he wasn’t yet aware of. It crossed John’s mind that he’d seen the look on Dorian’s face before, on a different kind of partner. But that wasn’t possible.

For Christ’s sake, Dorian was a  _robot_. Did he even… John shook himself before he could finish the thought. He had to be losing his mind. Yes. That was it. Maybe it was time to call the Recollectionist. John glanced down at Dorian warily. Or a shrink.

The DRN was staring into space now, presumably downloading whatever information he needed to fix John’s leg. He blinked, and then focused on John. “Because of _insufficient maintenance_ ,” Dorian said with a grin, “the algorithm that connects the prosthetic to your nervous system keeps drifting further and further away from optimal synchronization. I can recalibrate the program to require less synchronization time—though you will need to spend more time with the prosthetic on to make sure it works.” Dorian looked at John sideways like he wasn’t going to hold his breath. John barely noticed, focusing instead on the cadence of Dorian’s voice and the curve of his spine as he knelt.

Dorian reached out for John’s ankle and John felt a shock, but whether it was residual pain from his leg or static electricity (from Dorian?), he had no clue.

“Wait,” John interrupted, voice gone hoarse. He cleared his throat quickly. What the hell was wrong with him today? John jerked his leg back, guilty, and looked away.

Dorian sighed. “John, I understand why you would avoid doctors after what happened to you, but this is something that needs to be done.” Dorian squeezed John’s hand earnestly. “Let me do this for you, my friend.”

A shiver went through John’s body at that and he blinked at the feel of Dorian’s hand on his. “Yeah, of course. Sure. Good. Good,” he said convincingly, pulling his hand from away to rub at the back of his neck. Dorian looked at John consideringly, then nodded and resumed working on him.

John looked down, incapable of tearing his gaze away from the sight of his partner slipping his hand beneath John’s pant leg. Delicate though it was, Dorian’s fingers trailing over John’s skin felt better than anything he’d felt in months. As Dorian’s hand slid gently over his knee, John found his hips shifting, involuntarily moving closer to the edge of the couch. Suddenly he heard a click, and gasped as his leg began to tingle.

Having turned to John just in time to see his reaction, the corners of Dorian’s mouth turned up in a pleased smile. “Just breathe, man,” he started, but John didn’t hear a word of it. Dorian was, no doubt, saying something about the synchronization process—how it worked, how often he had to reset it, how long he could go without Dorian teasing him about it—but John was caught in the feeling of Dorian’s hand manipulating the interface in the muscles above his knee, undone by the pleasure/pain of the tingle spreading through his leg, could not get past the sight of the synthetic on the floor between his knees, all blue eyes, sensual lips and perfect bone structure.

Dorian was quiet now, face flickering, completely immersed in the reactions of John’s body. His rapt attention called to something deep inside of John, and he flexed the fingers of his right hand, resisting the unconscious urge he felt to take Dorian’s chin in his hand and direct him exactly where John wanted him to go.

Overwhelmed by the pleasurable sensations flooding his nervous system, John dimly became aware of Dorian’s hands sliding back down his leg. Eventually, the distracting hum in his nerves stopped, and John slowly regained control of himself. He felt really good. Uncomfortably good. He cleared his throat nervously. “What the hell was that?” John demanded gruffly, touching his leg gingerly to see if there were any lingering effects. He seemed to be back to normal, whatever that meant for him these days.

“The physical update can be…unpleasant. I merely altered it to be less uncomfortable for you,” Dorian said, feigning innocence.

John scoffed. “Yeah, you did something,” he grumbled, and stood up unsteadily, shaking his synthetic leg so that the fabric fell back from where it had been bunched up around his knee. Dorian just sat back on his heels, looking up at John with a satisfied smirk on his face, like he could not be prouder of himself. 

He looked too damned comfortable there. John wanted to  _ruin_ him.An idle thought of how long he could keep Dorian on his knees startled John into action and he started talking mindlessly, hoping that something, anything would come out to distract him from his mind.

“So that’s what a DRN is for,” he joked, “getting out of mandatory doctor appointments.”

Dorian let out a laugh in spite of himself, and then shook his head. “I’m your partner, John, not your personal assistant. I’m not here to serve your needs.” John straightened up self-consciously as Dorian stood up and walked towards him, mouth curving in a confident grin. “But feel free to thank me at any time.”

All of a sudden John realized how close Dorian was. Definitely in his personal space, if the DRN had any concept of the term. John waited for Dorian to back off laughing, as he would normally do, but Dorian paused. John watched, fascinated, as the smile on his partner’s face gave way to uncertainty. It looked like there was a question on Dorian’s lips, or even a request. Arrested by Dorian’s questioning gaze, John swallowed thickly.

Dorian was waiting for him. But for what?

Hell. John had a few ideas. The urge to guide him, to lead him, to  _instruct_  him, rose through John like the warm burn of a good whiskey, spreading through his body not unlike the tingling buzz of Dorian’s prosthetic update. John felt, rather than saw, Dorian begin to lean even closer, almost as though the android were reacting to his partner. Muscle memory prompted John to to reach for him, however, John ruthlessly suppressed the instinct and forced himself to turn from his DRN before he did something ridiculous. Dorian was a  _robot._ He probably didn't even realize what he was doing. John definitely didn't.

“Yeah, man,” John said abruptly, walking past the look on Dorian’s face that he knew he wouldn’t be able to tear himself from. “Thanks for helping me cheat the system. What would I do without you, right?” For the first time, sarcasm felt bitter on John’s tongue, like a lie he couldn’t get out of telling. He regretted the joke as soon as it passed his lips. Contentious as their relationship had been at the beginning, working without Dorian, even in jest, was not a thought John wanted to consider, and he wasn’t going to ruin their relationship over…whatever was going on with him today. John felt guilty, but Dorian was just too damned impressionable. John didn't want to influence in Dorian something he could barely control in himself.

At John’s words, the openness on Dorian’s face…well, it didn’t really fade so much as shift, blinking out of existence like a short in Dorian’s wiring. By the time John willed himself to look back to his partner, the DRN’s face was a placid mask of pleasantness once more.

John wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing. It wouldn't have been the first time.

“You’d have an MX,” Dorian answered brightly. “And an MX would have you. To be honest, I don’t know who I’d feel worse for, John.” He laughed, following his partner to the door.

Dorian seemed fine. And yet… _and an MX would have you._ Something in the air felt vaguely uncomfortable, like a beautiful melody played at the wrong tempo, or in the wrong key. John couldn’t figure it out. His lips twisted in a scowl. Something was wrong, he could feel it. “Hey,” he ventured, “Let's go for some noodles, give this thing a test drive.”

Dorian shook his head. “Sorry, man,” he said easily. “I’ve got to go see Rudy.”

“Rudy?” John asked gruffly. Yes, Rudy. Just Rudy. Why he was so bothered by the idea of Dorian seeing Rudy instead of watching John stuff his face at the noodle bar downtown, John had no idea. But he didn't like it. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure. See ya,” he said. He made no move to show Dorian out, though, searching Dorian’s eyes for a clue as to what felt…off in that moment. Then it was over, and there was nothing.

Dorian grasped the door handle. “See you tomorrow, John.” He left, closing the door softly behind him. Then John got it.

John had been reacting to what he'd come to think of as Dorian’s default voice—bright, pleasant, but nothing more—the voice Dorian used on people who weren’t _John_. It was strange, hearing that voice come from Dorian’s lips again after months of car rides, movie nights and jokes at one another’s expense...but John was a creature of habit, and dismissed the uncomfortable thought before it could find purchase in his mind.

Dorian would be fine. He always was.

John was on his third bottle of beer before he wondered—why was Dorian going to see Rudy at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I am not a real writer. Reviews and concrit are always appreciated!


	4. The Distant Possibility of Malfunction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needs to be edited, but I really wanted to post this! Kudos and concrit are appreciated, as always.

“Fuck!” John cursed, reaching across the sofa for the phone as it rang loud enough to wake the dead (or slightly tipsy). He’d never admit it to Dorian, but that leg synchronization thing had actually done a number on him. That plus three beers and he’d found himself in the ridiculous position of napping in the middle of the day like a third grader.

“Kennex!” He winced as it came out rougher than he’d planned. In an effort not to sound tired, he’d pushed too hard and wound up yelling instead. Dammit.

“Um, yes. John? It’s Rudy. Rudy Lom?” John heard the hesitant voice on the line and sighed. Of course it was Rudy.

“Of course. Hey Rudy. What’s going on?”

“Well, now that you’re awake, I can tell you about Dorian.” John dropped his head back, knocking his skull against the back of the sofa painfully. Dorian. God, what had he told Rudy? _Hey, Rudy, my partner’s acting funny. Hey Rudy, do you think the sight of me on my knees might have turned John into a sex maniac? Hey, Rudy, do you think John hates me?_ John took a deep breath, steeling himself for the ~~guilt~~ scolding that was sure to come.

Rudy didn’t disappoint.

“Do you or do you not remember what I told you about DRNs?” he practically yelled into the phone. Delicate as he seemed, Rudy was aggressive on quite a few subjects, and the well being of his beloved androids was at the top of the list. “Dorian is sensitive, extremely sensitive, and for god knows what reason, he seems to have latched onto you as the person he cares about most in this world,” he said, and then, under his breath, “ _God help him.”_

John huffed. “I heard that.”

“You were meant to,” Rudy said. “Do you know what it is for someone who is close to you, someone who cares about you, to do something that you never expected them to do? To do something that hurts your feelings and betrays your trust without so much as considering the effect that might have on them?”

The air around him got hazy for a moment and John realized that his eyes were tearing up. He blinked them back quickly, along with the bitter memories of Anna that threatened to surface. Yes, he knew. He knew exactly what that felt like. 

Rudy continued, careless of John’s sudden silence, “Because Dorian was quite upset when he got here. Nigh inconsolable, I would say, and he’s a _DRN_ , John. I know you have a problem with people’s feelings, but this is a DRN. If he gets too upset, he _will_ malfunction. That’s not just an empty threat and you know it.”

It was a goddamn understatement. John had heard the stories about all the problem DRN’s, exploding in a ball of flame and synthetic flesh, shut down in the middle of their a conversation, or decommissioned before they had a chance to prove themselves, like Dorian had been. He hadn’t thought about the possibility of anything like that happening to Dorian since their first week on the job, because he seemed so well adjusted and…well…perfect for the job, but it was still there. The threat of his DRN losing it and going ballistic because of an excess of emotion was all too real. And John, like an idiot, could have just pushed him over the edge.

Despite this, and despite John's ridiculous and inappropriate behavior with his DRN, Rudy was being oddly vague about what had driven Dorian to such distress, and he was worse than Dorian when it came to his need for precision. He wasn’t a detective for nothing.

“Rudy?” John prodded knowingly. “What did Dorian actually tell you?”

The protests were too soon in coming.

“Well, he does have a synthetic soul and everything. I didn’t want to pry. It seemed…” he hesitated, obviously uncomfortable, even over the phone. “It seemed like a question I didn’t want to know the answer to. He was upset about your conversation, and scared that he might malfunction. I was just calming him down, John, not angling for a blow by blow rundown of the afternoon’s events.”

Rudy didn’t know. Crisis averted. Now all he had to do was fix this thing with Dorian, whatever it was. Not that he had any idea how to accomplish that now. Jesus. Dorian was afraid of a…system failure? After one (admittedly stressful) conversation with John? How was he supposed to deal with that? The pressure, the burden…John could barely comprehend how hard it must be for Dorian, to walk around all day with the threat of malfunction hanging over his head. He imagined Dorian, wandering through the streets trying to process what had happened without overexerting himself and felt overcome by the need to see him. To speak to him. To make sure he was all right. 

“Where is he?” John blurted. “I mean, um, Dorian isn't roaming the city streets with a countdown clock or anything, is he?” _Smooth recovery_.

Rudy sighed again. “He’s fine for now. I put him to sleep in my home workstation for a few hours, to process everything that happened today so that he doesn’t have to walk around worrying. He’ll be all fixed up for work tomorrow.”

John let out a deep breath and his hand unclenched slowly from where he had tightened it in unconscious worry. Dorian was going to be okay. John couldn't see him right this moment, but he was okay. Thank God. It could wait until tomorrow.

“Cool,” he said casually. “Thanks, Rudy.”

“Of course. Um, John?”

“What is it?”

“Next time, try not to break him,” Rudy said with all the affronted harshness of a concerned friend, and hung up.

John laughed humorlessly, the image of Dorian on his knees coming back to him with perfect clarity. Break? Dorian? No, Dorian could take it. Dorian would take it. That was precisely the problem.

* * *

 

It was about 8:05 when John strolled into the office. He lied easily to Maldonado about the “lead” he and Dorian had chased the other day and chatted with Valerie for a few minutes before he had to excuse himself. Better leave abruptly than spend their entire conversation looking for his partner. And Dorian was  _late._

Dorian liked to chastise John when he came in late, but the fact of the matter was that Dorian loved being in the station before John and John knew it. Dorian liked most of John’s human partners (if not the MX’s) and enjoyed talking to them about any and everything. Maldonado would tell him about being a cop, and (when she was in a good mood) would regale him with tales of John’s early exploits, while Valerie was, like him, a people watcher, and would make Dorian howl with laughter over the silly people or pets or whatever she had seen that tickled her fancy. Paul, he avoided, and this was as much out of deference to John's dislike of the man as it was due to Dorian's own general sense of unease around him. No matter who he talked to, more often than not, Dorian would end up in John's car, asking a million questions about a specific human quirk, or an odd turn of phrase, and he'd spend much of the ride discussing it, or practicing it out on John, which never failed to amuse him. John was never sure if Dorian did it for enjoyment or edification. Or if he even knew the difference.

Today, however, the office was quiet. Even the locker room was empty by the time John checked it. When 9am rolled around with no word from Dorian, he began to worry. Stahl talked to him for a bit, and then sat with John in a silence that would have been companionable had he not been restlessly scanning the room for his partner. John waited for the telltale sound of Dorian’s laughter echoing through the halls of the police station, but it never came. What John did hear, however, was the low hum of a dozen Police MX’s reacting to something on the comms. They all turned, in unison, to look at John as his police comm went off. He clicked on his receiver, a frustrated shout on the tip of his tongue, but stopped himself when he realized it was Rudy on the other end, sounding…vaguely guilty.

“John?” he heard on the line. Rudy didn’t sound good. In fact, he sounded downright distressed. John felt a sinking feeling in his gut that he slowly recognized as fear.

“Rudy, where’s Dorian?”

“My personal workspace was violated by thugs and my MXs were deactivated—even the models I had in progress! They attacked me, John. I think I might have a concussion.”

John scowled. That was a deflection, not an answer. Dorian wasn't in the office. Dorian wasn't with John. If he wasn't with Rudy...

“Rudy.” John said evenly. “You tell me what happened to my goddamned partner, or, so help me, I’ll come over there and finish the job.”

John heard a muffled cough behind him and glanced around the room to see everyone in the office staring at him. Maldonado nodded to him and John stalked angrily into her office, where she was in the middle of dispatching units to Rudy’s workspace. John slammed the door, waiting impatiently for Rudy to answer his question. _don't say it don't say it don't say it don't say it don't say it.  
_

“Gone, John. He’s gone.”

“Fuck!” John shouted again, for the second time that day, and slammed a fist down on Maldonado’s desk. He could almost hear Rudy cringe over the phone line and was viciously satisfied at the thought. He immediately stood up and headed out the door. Maldonado signaled for a few officers to follow him to the crime scene. John ignored Rudy's apologies and spoke over him.

“Rudy. I will be there in twenty minutes. You’d better have something for me when I do.”

John hung up before he had a chance to answer, strapping on his holster and heading determinedly towards the door. Screw twenty minutes. He'd be there in fifteen. Red lights and stop signs were for civilians; John was a fucking cop. He laughed bitterly. Dorian wasn’t here to stop him from breaking out the sirens this time.

“What’s the matter, Kennex? Your pet robot finally lose it?”

It was Paul, of course, the smug bastard. John wanted to rip the grin off his face. He had Richard backed against the wall before he even realized what he was doing, anger clouding his mind and his vision like a red fog.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” John said slowly, enunciating every word so that Richard's tiny brain could get it. Dorian was in trouble, and John didn't have time for Richard's pseudo-aggressive bullshit. They glared at each other, fighting for dominance, but it didn't last. When Paul finally put his hands up, scoffing in mock submission, John hurried to his car. An MX ran up to him as he was starting it, loudly reminding him of the police rules regarding synthetic partners and demanding entry into the car as a temporary replacement.

It was the word _replacement_ that did it for him.

“No.” John snarled and sped off without a second thought. 


End file.
